


No Worries, We Still Have Time

by snarkasaurus



Series: Fictober 2018 [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 21:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkasaurus/pseuds/snarkasaurus
Summary: Fictober 2018 Day 7. Stiles and Derek. And...some weird wendigo-vampire-fae things.





	No Worries, We Still Have Time

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but we have to get out of here,” Derek snarled in Stiles’ ear. 

“Time,” Stiles muttered, staring at the short, sharp lines he was carving into the wood. “We’ve got it. Relax, sourwolf.” 

“We _don’t_ have fucking time,” Derek said. “I can hear them. Every second we’re here is another we don’t have to get the fuck out of here.” 

“What, tired of protecting my soft, squishy human self?” Stiles asked. He finished carving the rune into the tree and darted to the next one. One left. He had one left. He could do this. 

“Tired of trying to find excuses when you have to be carted to the fucking hospital, _again_ ,” retorted Derek. “Aren’t you fucking done yet?” 

Stiles dragged his knife down the tree, across the bark, back up again. “Almost. Just a few...more…” 

“Out of fucking time, Stiles!” Derek said, and then his body warmth was gone. There was a snarl and the clashing together of two bodies behind Stiles. 

He cringed, moving a little closer to the tree, but he was almost done. Almost...done… “Yes!” He whirled, looking with wide eyes at Derek fighting hard against a growing group of hideous looking creatures. Supposedly, they were fae. Faeries. Or, well. A derivative of. They weren’t actually fae in the sense that Stiles was looking at the Seelie or Unseelie or like. Fucking Tinkerbell or something. 

No, these were faeries that had gone very, very dark in a way that no magic could begin to explain. They were like a cross between wendigos and vampires, Deaton had said, and they were incredibly dangerous. The only way to defeat them was to paralyze them with light and then cut off their heads. 

That’s what they were doing out here in the woods, carving runes into trees. Stiles had created a circle of runes that, once activated, would light up with sunlight and reflect it out into the area around it. He’d set it up so they would create a circle that they could paralyze the fae...things in, and then Derek could cut off their heads. Which was going to be disgusting. He wasn’t happy with that. Still, sunlight and decapitation were a relatively calm and mild way to spend the evening, compared to some of the things they had done in their lives. 

Hell, with their _week_. 

He held up the knife he was using to carve the runes and muttered in Latin, “Et sanguis meus frugibus suis circum nos est magicae,” (One day, his brain would stop twitching at mixing Latin and runes for magic. Today was apparently not that day.) dragged the knife across his forearm, and hissed. Shit, that stung. He immediately held the wound against the rune he’d just finished carving into the tree, and turned his head to look at where Derek was surrounded by six of the fucking evil looking things. 

Stiles immediately wished he’d closed and covered his eyes instead as the most brilliant flash of sunlight he’d ever had the misfortune to catch sight of blew through the clearing and blinded him. “Fuck!” he crossed, slamming his eyes shut and covering them with his free arm. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the light glowed, warm against his skin. 

He managed to lower his arm and blink, dark spots and tears blinding him as he tried to open his eyes. The sounds in the middle of the clearing had stopped almost as soon as the light had flooded into the forest. He blinked frantically, trying to clear his vision enough to see Derek. He didn’t manage it before there was warmth against his side again, and Derek pressing him into the tree. “Derek,” he breathed. 

“Yeah. You ok?” Derek said, his hands moving over Stiles as if he was checking for injuries. 

“Can’t see for shit and my arm hurts, but I’m okay. Are you? Can you...why are you—” Why are you touching me and please stop because this is going to get really embarrassing really fast if you don’t. 

“Can’t see. You blinded me with that blast of light.” Derek’s breath was warm against his cheek, but he stopped touching Stiles. “Do you have the…” 

Stiles nodded, trying to calm the rabbiting beat of his heart. “Yeah, the...the scythes are over there.” 

“You stay here.” Derek was gone again, taking his warmth with him, and Stiles took in a shaky breath. He could see again, though there were still some black spots in his vision, and he watched Derek go to where he’d leaned the scythes against one of the trees. They were freshly sharpened, honed to an edge so keen that the piece of paper he’d slid edge first onto the blade had slid right down the length without a single catch, fluttering to the floor in two neat halves. They shouldn’t have a problem cutting through skin, flesh, and bone. That was the idea anyway. 

Derek lifted one, swinging it a couple of times to test its balance, and then moved warily toward the unoving faeries. They were even more gruesome in the daylight; their skin was grey and peeling away from the flesh underneath, which was oddly purple tinged where it peeked out. None of them had much hair, but what they did was long and stringy, clumped together to hang in disgusting tangles down their backs and around their faces. Thin, darker grey lips curled back from sharp, shark-like teeth, purple gums, every one of them locked in a rictus grimace that made Stiles’ skin crawl. The only part about them that looked alive was the glittering red tinged eyes, tracking Derek to a one as he stalked toward them. 

“Be careful,” Stiles found himself saying, almost before he could think. He chose not to try and interpret the look Derek leveled at him across the small clearing before he raised the scythe and swung. 

It took far less time that Stiles would have thought for there to be six disgusting heads resting on the forest floor beside the equally disgusting bodies that had dropped when head parted with neck. Derek dropped the scythe after he beheaded the final one, and stalked back toward Stiles. 

“That’s it, right? We don’t have to do anything else?” he asked, pulled Stiles arm toward him and looking at the wound. “Why’d you cut your arm? That was awkward to hold against the tree.” 

“Because it’s stupid as hell to cut your palm, and I needed a good amount of blood to activate the magic,” Stiles said, looking at the faint black marks traveling up Derek’s arm. “Stop that. It doesn’t hurt that bad. You don’t have to do that.” 

“Shut up, Stiles. We don’t have time to deal with your refusal to let others help you. What else do we have to do right now?” 

“We have plenty of time,” Stiles muttered without thinking. Derek was right, though, they didn’t, really. The rest of the pack would be here any minute, and they had to deal with these creepy ass corpses. “Just burn them like we planned. Scott and the others will take care of that.” As a rule, none of them liked to have Derek part of burning things. It just...wasn’t a thing they liked to let happen. 

Derek’s only reaction was to press his lips together in a thin line and gently turn Stiles arm to see it better in the sunlight still flooding around them. “I don’t think this needs stitches, but it does need a bandage. Will...will you let me?” 

“First aid kit’s in my bag,” Stiles said faintly. He was not sure how to react to Derek being so caring and helpful. Well. For Derek. Most people wouldn’t see the worry in the set of his mouth or think it weird to offer bandaging. Stiles knew better. Still...he had time to think about this. He still had time.


End file.
